


Hyakinthos, Flower Child

by ProseApothecary



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hospitals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29216772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: Flowers aren’t necessarily a Richie thing or an Eddie thing. The problem is that all the Richie and Eddie things are Richie and Eddie things because they’re things they already do for each other. Things they already buy for each other. Little emblems of their childhood.And Richie needs something unambiguously romantic, something he absolutely cannot back out of last minute.So. Flowers.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Maggie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier & Maggie Tozier
Comments: 24
Kudos: 116





	1. Chapter 1

Flowers aren’t necessarily a Richie thing or an Eddie thing. The problem is that all the Richie and Eddie things _are_ Richie and Eddie things because they’re things they already do for each other. Things they already buy for each other. Little emblems of their childhood.

And Richie needs something unambiguously romantic, something he absolutely cannot back out of last minute.

So. Flowers.

And a stockpile of candy, because if things go the way he’s dreading, he’s gonna need it.

He puts the bouquet in his backpack. Probably not the best way to store it, but holding it makes him want to anxiety-puke. And heads home.

Eddie’s hovering in the kitchen when he comes home.

Richie knows, as soon as he sees Eddie’s expression, that today is not the day.

Richie stares out the car window. There’s something calming about the recurrent peaks and troughs of the high-rise buildings.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Eddie mutters under his breath, glaring at a red convertible. He’s been keeping his road rage at a whisper level out of respect. It’s pretty funny, objectively, but Richie hasn’t been able to laugh yet.

“Please don’t get into a car crash while we’re visiting a car crash victim,” Richie says as Eddie narrowly ducks into the gap left by a Fiat. “The irony would be too much.”

“We’re gonna be fine,” Eddie says. “And Maggies’s gonna be fine. Everyone’s gonna be fine.” But he slows down a little.

Maggie is, more or less, fine.

Richie sags against the wall in relief as soon as the doctor gives them that little update. Eddie, on the other hand, seems to get a surge of excitement.

“What’d I fucking tell you?!” he says, clapping Richie on the shoulder. As if he was making actual predictions rather than projecting blind optimism.

Richie gives him a weakened smile, and slides down to sit on the floor. He’s happy, but it’s like the stress and exhaustion of the past 3 hours is just hitting him.

He sees Eddie’s shins for a second, and then he’s sitting down next to Richie.

“I don’t think we’re allowed to sit here.” Eddie says, hugging his knees to his chest.

Richie beams at him. He’s so bad at all of this, this whole emotional support thing, and it’s clear he’s trying so hard, and Richie is so glad he’s here.

“How long do you think we have before they a burly security guard takes us down?”

“A minute,” Eddie says. “Maybe two.”

“Ok,” Richie says. He counts to 30, then stands up, extending a hand to Eddie. “Let’s go in.”

Eddie takes his hand and stands up, then pauses. _Still hand-in-hand,_ Richie can’t help noticing. “Do you want-I mean, I don’t have to go in. I can get coffees or something If you’d like.”

“Nah, you were always her favourite,” Richie says. Then he realises Eddie’s looking a little peaky, and might be looking for an out. “It’s fine if you don’t want to, though. I know you’ve seen enough hospital beds and injuries for a lifetime.”

Eddie shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says, though he still looks kind of pale. “Let’s go in.”

Maggie smiles as soon as Richie makes his way in. her leg is suspended in a cast, and there’s a bruise on her jaw, but otherwise she looks ok.

“I thought we agreed, no more drag racing.” Richie gives her a kiss on the cheek, then takes the seat closest to her, and Eddie slips in to the seat next to him.

Maggie rolls her eyes a little, but plays along. “Nobody calls me chicken, Richie.” Then her eyes flit to Eddie.

“Hi,” Eddie says, raising an arm, feeling exceptionally awkward. “Uh, Eddie Kaspbrak, I don’t know if you remember me.”

“Eddie,” she says. “Of course. I was so glad when Richie told me you’d found each other again. You were such a sweet kid.”

Richie snorts. Eddie represses the urge to step on his foot.

“Thanks, Mrs Tozier,” Eddie says, absolutely certain that Richie is going to destroy him for that response, but not sure what else to say.

“Please,” she says, “call me Maggie.”

“You feel ok?” Richie asks. “Getting everything you need? Eddie knows how to strike the fear of God into nurses, if that would help.”

_Eddie is going to kill him._

“I’m fine,” she says, waving him off. “Tell me how you’ve been, I haven’t heard from you in forever.” She gestures between Richie and Eddie. “How’s living together? Is Richie doing some of the chores?”

Richie rolls his eyes.

Eddie feels like there’s really not a right answer there. “More than you’d expect,” he says, which makes Maggie grin.

“I bought some snacks this morning. In case you want something other than Jello.” Richie unzips his backpack, and realises, too late, that the flowers are right there. In the space Maggie and Eddie are both looking into. On top of the snacks.

“Also,” Richie says, deciding to _Yes and_ this shitfest of a situation, “Flowers!” He pulls them out and hands them to Maggie. Eddie looks confused. Wondering, undoubtedly, when Richie had time to slip away and buy them.

Richie lays out the packets of candied peanuts and skittles on the bed, and doesn’t look at anyone.

“Be honest,” Maggie says to Eddie. “Did you buy the flowers?”

“Oh, no,” Eddie says. “I would not have stored them in a backpack.”

The three of them look at the bouquet, which has wilted considerably.

Richie lets out a long-suffering sigh. “You try to do something nice for someone…”

“I love them,” Maggie says, reaching for Richie’s hand. His shoulders hunch a little as soon as she takes it.

“They are nice,” Eddie admits. “I love hyacinths.”

_I know you love hyacinths,_ Richie doesn’t say. _You try to subtly sniff them whenever we walk past the florist. That’s why I bought fucking hyacinths._

_Apparently_ , Eddie learns, _whenever Richie catches his mother up on his life, they have to go back at least 6 months._

He’s not entirely surprised. Richie talks all the goddamn time, but rarely about his life.

They’re both starving by the time The Great Recount is over, and make their excuses to go get some dinner.

“Eddie,” Maggie says, stopping him following Richie out. “Y’know, there’s no one I’d rather have taking care of him.”

Eddie freezes, the thought which was bouncing around in the corners of his brain coming into sharp focus.

_She definitely thinks they’re dating._

_There’s also no way it’s his place to correct her, right?_

He plasters a smile on his face, and chickens the fuck out. “Thanks, Maggie.”

They end up heading back to the hotel for room service.

Eddie looks up from fumbling with his keycard to see Richie smiling at him.

“What?”

“I’d forgotten.” He raises his pitch. “Thanks Mrs Tozier. Can I help out in the kitchen, Mrs Tozier? I hope you have a swell Mothers’ Day, Mrs Tozier.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he says, flushing a little. His own mother made it so clear that spending time with Richie was a privilege, not a right. Eddie just felt like ingratiating himself to the Toziers, making himself indispensable, those were the best ways to make sure they didn’t say the same.

Of course, as he got older, he started to realise that Maggie actually wanted her son to have friends, and seemed to like Eddie just fine, and maybe he didn’t have to try quite so hard. But by then it had sort of stopped being an act.

Once Eddie had gotten stung by a bee, playing with Richie in the yard. He’d gone to her, afraid of the consequences, but she’d just taken care of him. Asked him before she’d treated it, as if medical things were a choice and not a necessity. Made it clear that he could come back to her if it got worse. That he didn’t have to tell his mother. And Eddie, for a brief, embarrassing moment, thought maybe he was in love.

It didn’t take long to realise his feelings were a little misdirected.

But he’d still clung to that moment as a place of safety. Still clung to her.

The door finally buzzes, and unlocks for them.

As soon as they get in the room, Richie puts his backpack down and starts pulling clothes and chargers from his travel pack, sitting on the bedspread.

Eddie watches his back and shoulders move.

“I didn’t bring a toothbrush.” He hears. “Or toothpaste.”

“Y’know, this is why people keep a packing list.” Eddie sighs and relents. “You can use mine.”

Richie turns to him. “ _Eddie_ ,” he says, acting up the shock and awe.

Eddie’s relieved to know he’s back to his usual self. “I _know_ ,” he responds. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Richie grins at him, then turns back to unpacking.

_Ok. Just say it. Just say it._

“Rich. I think Maggie thinks we’re dating.”

Richie stills. A second later, he’s moving again. “I _knew_ I shouldn’t have referred to you as my ‘bachelor friend’.”

“Richie.”

Richie turns to him. “So maybe she thinks we’re dating. Does it really matter?”

Eddie stares at him. “Of course it matters! Does it seriously not bother you?”

Richie looks at him with an indecipherable expression. “No. But. Clearly it bothers you, so. I’ll let her know.” He turns back to his bag.

Eddie frowns. “It doesn’t _bother_ me that…” _Rocky ground._ “I just think it’s weird. That you don’t want her to know what the fuck is going on in your life. I mean-”

“Let me guess,” Richie interrupts. “A boy’s best friend is his mother?”

“Fuck you,” he says, arms folding across his chest, no trace of affection. It’s not like it’s the first, or worst time it’s been brought up, but Eddie’s tired, and he’s trying to help, and sometimes it fucking bothers him, that he spent so long trying to steer clear of the type of freak he actually is, that he ended up catapulting himself into the role of another creep entirely. One that’s a lot less fun.

It bothers him that there are moments when he thinks him and Richie are close, and then he says something that makes him feel like the little kid he’s friends with out of pity. The one that’s allowed to stick around so the group can make fun of him.

Richie turns back to him. His expression softens as he looks at Eddie. “Hey. I’m sorry.”

Which makes Eddie feel like a dick, acting out over a joke when Richie’s mother’s in the hospital. He waves a hand dismissively. “It’s. Whatever. It’s fine.”

“Thanks for coming with me today.” Richie says quietly. “It was really good. Having you there.”

God, it fucking sucks how _easy_ Eddie is for him. Can’t refuse to jump in a quarry without Richie giving him a smile that drags him in. Can’t stay angry without Richie saying one nice thing and dragging him out of it.

Eddie shrugs gruffly. “How do you know I wasn’t there for Maggie?”

Richie grins. “Oh, I’m certain you were.” He pauses, an expression of delight dawning, and says, “Maggie! She finally convinced you to call her Maggie! It only took 27 years!”

And, because Eddie can’t look at his smile for too long without doing something wildly inappropriate for the situation, he marches off to the bathroom to change into his pajamas.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Eddie goes to get coffees while Richie talks with Maggie.

Well, that's the plan.

What happens is that his curiosity gets the better of him, and he ends up sticking to the wall as soon as he leaves her room.

“You could've gone with Eddie," Maggie says. "Y'know, I don't need someone standing guard all day."

“Neither does Eddie.” Richie says. “You know, we are allowed to spend time apart. I mean. It’s not like we’re dating.”

 _Jesus,_ Eddie thinks. _You’re a comedian, you’re supposed to be good at segues._

There’s a long silence.

“Richie,” Maggie says. “I’ve seen your stand-up. I know we’re not pretending you’re dating Savannah anymore.”

Eddie blanches. _Oh God. It seems like he’s inadvertently eavesdropping on a much bigger conversation than intended._

“Who’s pretending?” Richie asks. “She posed with me on red carpets, I convinced 3 directors that she _wasn’t_ hellish to work with, and she ended up giving me an old Tupperware container. It was a very meaningful relationship.”

“Richie.”

“Yeah, whatever, I’m not dating women. Also not dating Eddie.”

There’s another pause. “Why not?”

“Oh my God.” He emulates her tone. “Probably because I didn’t do my share of the chores.”

“You made each other mixtapes when you were 13,” Maggie says. “Do you remember that?”

Eddie feels himself flush.

Richie groans. “I’m gonna check on those coffees.”

Eddie, in a panic, knowing that Richie is going to walk out and see him any second, marches right into the room.

Richie blinks at him. “…Where are the drinks, Eddie?”

“There…weren’t any.”

“There _weren’t any?_ ”

“They were _nine dollars_ ,” Eddie snaps, finally finding a believable excuse. “I’m not paying nine dollars for coffee.”

A grin blooms on Richie’s face.

Eddie looks at Maggie. “But I can uh, find a bodega or something-”

“Oh no,” Maggie says, “Come join us. We were just talking about the mixtapes you made for each other at Richie’s 13th birthday. Do you remember the mixtapes?”

Richie gives him a defeated, apologetic look.

Eddie sits next to him. “I remember the mixtapes. Lot of Duran Duran.”

After they endure an hour of not-so-subtle questioning from Maggie, Richie drags them off to lunch.

There’s an awkward silence as they walk down the streets, looking for restaurants.

 _So, your mother is planning our wedding, right?_ is the type of thing that you can’t really say out loud.

Eddie tries a different tack.

“So. I might have been. Eavesdropping. A little bit.”

“Yeah. I kind of figured when you darted into the room and immediately looked terrified.”

Eddie goes pink. “Sorry. But uh, you know I didn’t mean for you to-I just. I didn’t realise telling Maggie about your relationship status included _coming out_. Or I wouldn’t have asked you to.”

Richie hunches his shoulders up, embarrassed. Looks at the ground ahead of him. “It’s not like it was a secret. I knew she’d find out as soon as it was public, I just. Didn’t tell her.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say to that. Richie’s eyes dart back up to him.

“I know,” he says. “Son of the Year.”

“No, that’s not-I mean. People in glass houses, right? If Sonia was still alive I’d probably still be married.”

Richie looks at him carefully. “No you wouldn’t.” he says. As if he’s some kind of expert on the matter. As if he’s an expert on _Eddie_.

It gives Eddie the compulsive need to keep filling the air. “I think that’s why I was so insistent. Like maybe I was projecting some of my family drama onto you.”

Richie keeps giving him that look. “Ok,” he says eventually, “so this is going to sound like a set-up, but I am at least 70% serious.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“You were here for all my family drama so. I’m here for all of yours. You can even pre-emptively beep beep me, if you need me to not be a dick about it. Hell, even if you just need to yell at someone wearing a muumuu. Tell them the things you never told her. Then I am willing to sacrifice my sense of style to make that happen.”

Eddie always liked the fact that Richie seemed separate from that side of his world. He lived in his own little bubble, and sometimes Eddie could hop in with him.

“The thought of you roleplaying as my mother is literally too disturbing to focus on for more than an instant, but uh, thank you for the offer.”

“…Sorry,” says Richie, “I heard the words ‘disturbing’ and ‘roleplay’ and immediately went to my happy place. What were we talking about?

Eddie bites down a smile and knocks his shoulder into Richie’s. “Lunch,” he says, motioning at an Italian restaurant beside them. “This place?”

Richie drives them home on Sunday, after Maggie promises she’s getting out in a day or two, and Richie promises to be careful with Eddie’s car.

It’s their version of a comfortable silence, which involves Eddie piping up every 15 minutes with a complaint about the scenery, or the other drivers, or this particular driver.

All of which works for Richie, up until they’re a minute from home, passing the florist on their street, and Eddie pipes up with an, “I never asked. When did you find time to buy the flowers?”

Richie taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

He could probably come up with something.

He’s not sure he wants to.

“Funny story,” he says. “Things didn’t exactly go to plan. I didn’t get them for her. I, uh, got them for you.”

He pulls into their driveway, attempting to check his blind spots without looking at Eddie.

“For me?” Eddie asks, sounding curious. “For what?”

“For nothing,” Richie says, immediately turning the ignition off and unclasping his seatbelt, suppressing the urge to flee. “Just. For you.”

He looks out the window, up until the point that he hears Eddie ask, “…Can we turn around?” And he has to look over, has to try to parse Eddie’s expression and figure out where this is going.

Eddie’s expression is not overflowing with clues.

“Uh, yeah,” Richie says, feeling like he’s in a dodgem car that’s been rammed off course. “Did you-did you leave something there?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “My fucking flowers.” And then there’s the telltale crinkling of his eyes, a persistent tugging at his mouth.

Richie barks a laugh, relief and hope breaking forth. “Dude. I thought for sure you’d left your wallet in the hotel or something.”

“That sounds more like you,” Eddie says, and then he’s surging forward, and Richie can’t breathe, and then there’s a little _schink_ , and as soon as Richie’s brain returns to his melting body, it becomes very clear that Eddie’s seatbelt is jammed.

“Fucking. Piece of shit.” Eddie says, intermittently ramming his shoulder forward and stretching the slack of the seatbelt.

Richie cannot stop laughing.

“What’s so fucking funny, asshole?” Eddie asks, at around the same time he realises he can just unclasp the seatbelt.

All of which makes Richie collapse into another fit of laughter.

When he wipes the tears from his eyes, Eddie is smiling reluctantly, arms crossed.

“I’m not kissing you now,” he says petulantly.

“That’s fine,” Richie says. “I can live off the fact that you _tried_ to for at least a decade.”

Eddie, still smiling, says, “That’s pretty tragic, Rich.” And then he reaches over and clasps his hand over the knee of Richie’s jeans. Rubs his thumb over the fabric, and says, in a perfect house-husband voice, “Can you open the boot, babe?”

_Fucking love gremlin._

Richie reaches down to toggle the button. Watches Eddie get out, and gives himself a few seconds to prepare for an entirely new life.

Once everyone’s bags are strewn across the couch, Eddie backs Richie into the wall, putting his palms up to the plaster.

“…Is this weird?” he asks.

“Whuh?” asks Richie, trying to will some blood back to his brain.

Eddie frowns. “Is this weird for you, like, making out after a family hospital visit? Because I can wait.”

“It wasn’t weird until you started talking about it.”

Eddie’s frown deepens. “Oh, ok, fuck me for trying to-”

Richie darts forward and kisses him. Slips a hand around Eddie’s waist, his fucking polo shirt. And holds on for dear life.


End file.
